Secrets and Lies
by cheeky-chaos
Summary: Sarkney! AU.  Takes place after the events of season 3 Resurrection. While everyone searches for Nadia and Sloane, Sydney is forced on a mission for Kendall... Who is the mysterious woman trying to contact her?  And what does Sark have to do with it?
1. Kendall's Mission

**Summary:** Sarkney! AU Season 4. Takes place after the events in Season 3's "Resurrection". Sloane and Nadia have vanished and Sydney, along with the rest of the JTF are trying to track them down. Sydney isn't talking to her father since she learnt the mysterious contents of the deposit box she found in Wittenberg. Slowly, she's beginning to regain some of the memories she had of her missing two years... memories that weren't included in the explanation Kendall gave her. What if Nadia wasn't really her sister? And just who is the mysterious woman who keeps trying to contact her? And what does Sark have to do with all of this?

**Author's Note:** Okay it's been a while since I posted a fic, but I've finally got another one to post! I hope you guys enjoy!!

Sorry, but this chapter sort of starts off Syd/Vaughn, a few days after the end of Season 3. There will be Sarkney (and plenty of it!) coming in later chapters!! He's going to appear as soon as I can get him to (while still making sense in the story)!

Cheeky.

* * *

**Secrets and Lies**

By cheeky-chaos

"It is always darkest before the dawn." Proverb

**Chapter One**

I watched the sleek building in front of me through my night vision binoculars and counted the many surveillance cameras, motion detectors and infra-red cameras placed at strategic points around the windows and doors. I sighed, my breath clouding in the cold air. I stood on the roof of the building across the street from my target, which just so happened to be a high security storage facility just outside Budapest, Hungary.

My sigh turned into an angry grimace as my cell phone vibrated in my pocket. I suppressed a curse as I dug it out and snapped it open. "Yes?" I growled.

"Ah, Agent Bristow." Came a sickeningly familiar voice. "I trust everything is going well?"

At the sound of Kendall's voice, I had to fight the impulse to say something nasty. I didn't think that would go down too well in my current situation... which, while not as bizarre as some of the others I had found myself in, was just as dangerous, if not even more so. Somehow, Kendall had discovered that it hadn't been the Covenant that was responsible for my escape from the federal holding facility after my capture in Rome by the NSC. I don't know exactly how and maybe I never will, but Kendall knew that my father had voluntarily helped Sloane bust me out and had proof. Hence our deal. I couldn't let everyone be imprisoned because of me, so that was how I found myself standing in the cold in Hungary, gazing at a very secure building. Sent to retrieve something Kendall wanted in exchange for his continued silence.

In the past two days my world had almost completely collapsed around my ears, _again_... and like I had to after waking up in Hong Kong, I was keeping secrets again. Lying. To everyone – no one could know that the great Sydney Bristow was close to yet another emotional breakdown. And to make matters worse, I wasn't talking to my father anymore. Not after what I had discovered in my recent trip to Wittenberg. I think the only decent thing in my life right now was Vaughn. Finally, we were back to the way we should be. After a year of wanting and aching... he was finally mine again.

Two days ago, Nadia and Sloane had completely disappeared off the face of the earth and I had discovered the truth in Wittenberg. Sometimes I really believed the only reason I got through each day was my ability to compartmentalise... and lie. That was my life now... full of secrets and lies. I lied to my friends every time I smiled and told them I was alright; I wasn't. What I had found in Wittenberg had seen to that. I kept that dark secret to myself, not even trusting the man I loved with it. After Hong Kong and the past year, I didn't want to burden our relationship with that... not yet. Maybe not ever. I just wanted one thing in my life to be pure and sweet, like the Vaughn I had fallen in love with.

"Agent Bristow?" Kendall's voice questioned sharply, jerking me from my thoughts.

That man and whoever he worked for could give the Devil a run for his money, I was sure of it. He'd known about the box in Wittenberg too, which just made me hate him all the more. It didn't help either, that for a while now I'd had a suspicious feeling that there was something missing from the story of my two missing years; something that just didn't ring entirely true. I hated that the only memories I had of my missing two years came in bursts and fragments. And with them seemed to come a feeling of being trapped; just like I was now. Doing Kendall's dirty work to retrieve a Rambaldi jewellery box for Project Blackhole, or the NSC might just find out about who was involved in my escape from federal custody... I might not care what happened to my father anymore, but I _did_ care what happened to Vaughn. Lindsey and Lauren might have been gone, but the NSC was still gunning for my imprisonment.

"I'm still here." I growled to Kendall.

"I asked you how your mission was going?" he asked, the sharp tone still evident in his voice.

"It's not at the moment." I snapped in reply. "Because I keep getting interrupted by pointless phone calls."

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the phone. "Just remember why you're doing this, Agent Bristow." Kendall said coldly.

His comment broke through the last of my thoughts and I cursed myself under my breath by getting distracted by the car crash that is now my life. There would be enough time to worry about it after this was over. "How can I forget when you keep reminding me?" I said, my anger rising to the surface.

"Call me when you have the jewellery box." Kendall ordered. "And don't try anything funny, Bristow. One phone call and your precious Agent Vaughn will be on the wrong side of a cell."

I bit down on my angry response and fought to remain focused on the reason I was doing this. Vaughn. "I will." I agreed grudgingly, and Kendall hung up.

Replacing my phone in one of the many pockets of my black combat pants, I went over my optech a final time. There was no reason not to get this mission over with as soon as I could. I had a momentary longing for Marshall and his wizardry. There was no denying he always made my missions easier than they had to be, but he didn't know about this one, so I was on my own. Underneath my SWAT-style black-on-black, I wore a specially designed catsuit designed to block my body-heat signature from the infra-red cameras. As for the cameras and motion detectors, I had a small signal jammer, but for the most part, I was going to have to avoid them the old fashion way. A Glock, complete with silencer, was in its holster on my right leg and I wore black leather gloves to guard against leaving fingerprints. Finally, a black balaclava was to keep my face from being recognised, although it was still in my pocket at the moment.

After one last glance at the building through my binoculars, I tucked them into another of my pockets and slipped on my balaclava. Then I carefully hooked my harness up to the zip line that stretched through the dark, cold night to the roof of the storage facility and began to slide my way across. I made it across in a couple of minutes, having done this many times in the past, and before I really had time to think about it, I was slipping across the roof to one of the ventilation shafts. Using a small electric screwdriver, I quickly removed the vent covering and revealed a dark chute that dropped about thirty-feet before flattening out. It was narrow, probably too narrow for a man, but I could just fit through. There were advantages to being a woman.

My movements were efficient and precise and I hooked up another line to my harness and repelled down into the darkness. The whole process had taken maybe five minutes, and I knew I had about another ten minutes before one of the guards would check the roof – which meant I had ten minutes to find the box and make my way out of here before the alarm was raised. Not impossible, but not the easiest task I'd ever had. As I slithered my way through the vent shafts, I found that part of me was having a lot of fun on this mission. It was different to what I was used to, because there was no backup, no one to burst in if something went wrong. I was alone. And I found that I quite enjoyed the extra challenge of it.

Finding the south wing of the building with little trouble, I exited the vents and began to make my way on foot. Slipping past the cameras in the corridors was quite easy, but I knew that would change as soon as I got to the vault. The vault in the lower levels of the south wing of the facility was used to store those precious items that belonged to the collectors that had no compulsion preventing them from hunting you down and killing you if something happened to their particular object.

Just as I reached the vault, I cursed inwardly as I saw the flicker of a torch and knew a guard was standing just outside the vault. Immediately sinking back into the shadows of the corridor, I waited to see what the guard was going to do. The guard looked about a bit longer, before reaching for his walkie talkie. "There's nothing here." He said in Hungarian. "Just another damn faulty circuit."

I heard a vague reply from the guard on the other end and a burst of static. "Making my way back now." The guard in front of me said. "I'll see you in about five minutes."

Considering the information I had just learnt, I had to smile at my luck. If there was a faulty circuit in the vault door system, then there was a chance that they wouldn't discover the break in right away and maybe I'd have a few more minutes before the alarm was sounded. I could be halfway out of here in five minutes. But first I had to take care of the guard. Carefully judging my opportunity, I watched the guard walk closer and closer to my position as he headed back to his friend. Thankfully, like all underpaid guards around the world, he wasn't really paying attention to his surroundings and he completely missed my hiding place. As soon as he has passed me, I snuck out of the shadows and grabbed him from behind around the throat. Applying pressure to the right point, I felt the guard slacken into unconsciousness in seconds.

Leaving him where he fell, I ran to the vault door and activated the scrambler to disrupt the cameras. I only had twenty seconds, but hopefully, it should be enough. Slapping the decoder to the side of the vault lock, I felt the adrenaline rise as I watched the little red numbers crack the vault code. "Come on, come on." I muttered, feeling time ticking away from me.

Seven seconds later, the decoder beeped softly and the vault slid open. I raced into the room, the scrambler mucking up the cameras and motion sensors inside the vault as well. Spotting the box, I slid it into the bag I wore at my lip hip and was out of the vault with the door shut just as time ran out. Snapping the decoder off the lock, I pocketed it and raced back up the corridor, expecting to hear alarms sounding at any second.

I rounded the corner, heading for my escape route when I skidded to halt in surprise. Standing in front of me, seemingly just as surprised as I was, were a team of three men dressed in similar black outfits to mine. I noted the clothes were clearly government issue in the split second before the men brought guns up to point at me, and a heartbeat before I spun and bolted down the corridor the way that I had come. As I sprinted away from the agents, I prayed they'd be smart enough not to want to draw attention to themselves, so they wouldn't fire any of their weapons – which hadn't been equipped with silencers, I noticed. Thankfully, they seemed intelligent enough, as not gunshots followed me.

Ducking around another corner, I heard sounds of pursuit as a single thought flitted through my head: just what was another team of American agents doing in Hungry at the exact time I was stealing a Rambaldi artefact? Because if those men weren't CIA, then my name wasn't Sydney Bristow.

I burst out into what appeared to be a loading dock as I frantically searched my memories of the blueprints I'd studied last night. Growling in frustration that the mission had gone horribly wrong, I quickly scanned the dock for a hiding place and maybe a way out, as I gave up on trying to figure out where exactly I was. I'd always worked better with improvised plans anyway.

I'd just crept behind a pile of crates when the three men burst into the room in pursuit. Knowing I'd need a better hiding place, particularly as the three men began to spread out, weapons still drawn, I crept further into the shadows behind the crates and quickly scanned the room. I grinned slightly when I spotted not only a good hiding spot, but a way out. Hoping the men wouldn't realise there were several metal catwalks about twelve feet above their heads, I sank further into the shadows and began to climb.

Carefully keeping an eye on the men currently searching the room for me, I managed to climb up to the catwalks on the many and conveniently placed crates and containers littered about the room. I froze in a crouch a second later, when one of the men walked right under me. Judging by his movements and bearing, he was the leader of this little operation and from the comm. I could see in his ear, this definitely was a CIA mission. But just who by? I didn't know of any other task forces who dealt with Rambaldi and he couldn't work for Project Blackhole... otherwise, why would Kendall have sent me in?

I memorised the man's face, noting his very short black hair, calculating and observant slate-grey eyes and the strange scar that cut through his right eyebrow and twisted up his forehead into his hairline. His jaw was strong and square and his mouth was drawn into a stubborn line. It was a good-looking face; one sure to turn quite a few heads. He would be a knock-out if he ever smiled, I mused as I watched him disappear back into the shadows. Taking my opportunity, I silent stood and made my way along the catwalk to the other end. From there, I slipped across the window ledge to a half-open window. I knew that the second I slipped through it, I would trigger the motion sensor just outside and no doubt be caught on the surveillance camera, but I figured there was a good chance the alarm would go off any second anyway, and I wasn't hanging around to find a better way out.

The two story drop to the ground drove the air from my lungs and sent a painful shock up both my legs, even though I aimed for the nearby canvas roof of a truck and rolled forward the second my boots hit the floor of the truck, to lessen the impact. I shook it off, alarms now wailing in earnest, and staggered out of the back of the truck. Taking off at a run, I heard several annoyed shouts from the men who had been chasing me, but I ignored them. Reaching the relative safety of the rental car I had stashed away, I dragged the balaclava from my head and double checked that I still had the Rambaldi artefact. It was fine. With a relieved sigh, I headed for the airport. It was over.

* * *

I groaned, rubbed my eyes and returned my gaze to the computer screen in front of me. At this point, not even coffee was enough to keep me focused. After handing over the artefact to Kendall at Budapest Airport, I had jumped on a plane and headed back to LA. Unfortunately, due to an irritating vacuum cleaner salesman, I hadn't been able to get a wink of sleep and the early morning start this morning had almost killed me. Now, nine hours later, the surveillance reports I was going over were all starting to blur together. 

"Wishing you were still on your relaxing weekend trip?" Wiess asked me.

I looked up to find Weiss standing just in front of my desk, I smiled. "Yeah. It was great to just getaway for a few days." I said. "I think that was my first real vacation in years."

Weiss looked wistful. "I think I've actually forgotten what those are like." He told me.

We shared a grin, before Vaughn wandered over to meet us. He'd gotten back this morning from a trip of his own, which had made things easier for my mission to Hungary. I still didn't like lying to him about it, though. And I couldn't shake off the feeling that he wasn't telling me something. Not that I could really point fingers, given my recent activities. "Hey, Syd." He greeted.

"Hey, Vaughn." I returned the soft greeting.

"Well, I think I've got some reports or something to go over... I'll catch you guys later." Weiss said, with a pretty obvious excuse.

Vaughn and I shared a grin at his behaviour, and I was struck again by just how wonderful a friend Weiss was as he left Vaughn and me alone. "So, you feel like going out to dinner tonight?" Vaughn asked, coming to sit on the edge of my desk.

I hid a smile by picking up my coffee cup and taking a sip. "Yeah, I think I can manage dinner tonight." I replied.

Vaughn smiled, his beloved green eyes twinkling. "Good. Pick you up at eight?"

I nodded, just as Dixon strode out of his office. "Vaughn, can I have a word?"

"Sure." Vaughn agreed, and with a final wistful smile in my direction turned and followed Dixon into his office.

I watched until the door closed behind the two men, before returning to the surveillance reports. It was an almost pointless exercise, but someone had to check through them in case someone somewhere had picked up a trace of Sloane or Nadia, and everyone had been taking their turns. So far we hadn't found anything that we didn't already know.

When my computer gave a soft beep, however, I was momentarily surprised. Switching screens, I opened up the search I had begun just after lunch. Early this morning, I had sketched a picture of the face of the man I had seen in Hungary, before feeding the image into a search program. The search had finally had a hit. I gazed between my uploaded sketch and the photo and had to fight the grin that threatened to spread over my face. I'd found him! I'm not quite sure what drove me to figure out who the man was, but something told me there was more to what Kendall wanted me to do that met the eye, and I hadn't survived this long as a spy by not trusting my instincts.

Gazing at the photo, I noted the same slate-grey eyes and determined expression as I had seen the night before. But now I had a name to go with the face. It turned out the man was actually Agent Thomas Scott, of the CIA. So I had been right! I frowned as I read the rest of the short file I'd managed to access. It seemed Thomas Scott was the head agent of a task force that had also been dealing with Rambaldi. They'd been based just outside of Washington DC for several years now and they were responsible for retrieving as many Rambaldi artefacts as I had. So why had Kendall wanted me to retrieve the jewellery box and not these guys?

I was still mulling it over when Vaughn came out of Dixon's office about an hour later. But I gave up when he suggested he should walk me to my car. I smiled at the man I loved and pushed all thought of Agent Thomas Scott out of my head. I'd think about it tomorrow.

To be continued...


	2. Warnings and Bad Feelings

Author's Note: Thanks for the reviews! It's great to hear what you think. Here's (hopefully) another enjoyable chapter. Warning: contains naughty language, hence the rating.

Cheeky.

* * *

**Secrets and Lies**

By cheeky-chaos

"I feel like I'm losing my mind! Like I don't even know who I am anymore or what I'm doing or why I'm doing it!" - Sydney Bristow

**Chapter Two**

Sark sighed almost inaudibly as he picked the lock with his black gloved hands. Walking into the suburban house on silent feet, he gazed calmly around him and disarmed the security system with casual ease. Sark knew the owner of the house was dining at some romantic restaurant tonight and wouldn't be home until later, so he would have plenty of time to do what he came to do.

As usual, Sark was dressed in a black Armani suit and black leather gloves covered his hands. Walking into the study, he gazed about the room with icy blue eyes, before moving to sit at the computer. Within minutes he had the system booted up and he had broken through the rather poor password. Scanning the files on the hard drive, he blinked in surprise when he found much more incriminating evidence than he had bargained on. Sark's surprise wasn't because of the depth of the man's criminal activities – those he had already known. What surprised Sark was the blatantly careless way the man still kept them on his computer. A professional, and Sark considered himself a professional, would have known to make sure the files had been deleted at the first opportunity.

Although, when Sark saw the nature of the communications, he smirked slightly. But not even "love" notes such as those were worth the risk. Making a copy of it all, Sark let his eyes gaze around the room, before frowning when he felt his cell phone vibrate in his pocket. "Yes?" he answered in his clipped British accent.

"Jules, I think it's time to get out of there." The softy accented voice informed him. "Romeo just dropped his date off and he's heading home."

Sark let a genuine smile cross his face at the sound of his sometimes-partner's voice. The curious mix of Russian and Irish accents, usually carefully hidden, drawled in his ear again. "His date didn't look happy with him either."

"Do I need to remind you that I hate it when you call me Jules?" Sark asked, gathering the small memory drive he had used to copy the files and carefully making sure everything on the desk was the same as when he had entered.

His partner chuckled. "Liar. You love it."

Sark suppressed the urge to roll his eyes, instead carefully exiting the house via the back door. "I'm leaving the building now." He said.

"Good, because Romeo's about a block away." His partner replied.

Climbing into the sleek, black and expensive car he had hired from the airport, Sark smirked slightly at the ease of the mission. He was good – the man would have no suspicions someone now had proof of all his dirty little secrets. "I've got a copy of the files. Shall I meet you at the airport?"

He heard the sound of a half-suppressed yawn on the other end of the phone. "I'll you there in about an hour."

"Oh?"

"Yes. I'm hungry."

Sark chuckled. "Very well. I shall see you in an hour." He replied, before snapping the phone shut.

* * *

I entered the briefing room carrying a large cup of coffee and large stack of files, flashing a smile at Weiss and Marshall, who were already seated and talking softly. I took a seat next to Weiss and waited for Dixon, Vaughn and my father to join us. I was still a little angry at Vaughn after our argument last night at the restaurant. It was silly, but something about the undercurrent of resentment and angry in his tone when I'd questioned him about his recent trip had rubbed me the wrong way. I felt a hint of foreboding whenever I thought about it and my instincts were screaming something at me – I just didn't know what it was. Or maybe I did. Denial wasn't just a river in Egypt.

Fortunately, all these dark thoughts were driven from my mind when Dixon and my father entered the room, closely followed by Vaughn. Taking his customary seat at the head of the table, Dixon glanced around at us all, as my father and Vaughn also took their seats. "As I'm sure you know, Vaughn recently took a trip to Moscow to speak to a contact about a possible sighting of Nadia and Sloane." Dixon began the briefing.

I looked at Vaughn and he shot me a sheepish smile, his green eyes contrite. I smiled back, feeling better at the apology in his eyes and ignored the feeling in my gut that something was wrong. "My contact didn't give me much." Vaughn took over the briefing. "But he did give me a location in Switzerland."

"We traced Sloane and Nadia to a private clinic in the Alps." Now it was my father's turn to speak. "We believe Nadia is still suffering ill-effects from whatever Sloane tried to inject her with."

My stomach clenched at the mention. It nauseated me to think of the suffering Nadia had been through at the hands of that madman... and that she was still at his mercy. "...easy to gain access to the medical records once inside." Weiss' nudge and Dixon's words broke into my thoughts about my sister. "Sydney, you'll be accompanied by your father."

"My father?" I echoed, surprised that it was not Vaughn coming with me and not too pleased at having to spend time in an enclosed space with that man.

Dixon nodded. "Out of all of us, you and Jack have spent the most time with Sloane. And he has proven to have a soft spot for you. If anyone can bring Nadia in, it's you two."

"We believed it more prudent to use the cover of a rich CEO enquiring about the medical facilities while accompanied by his daughter." My father's cold voice added. "A young couple would have been more suspicious."

I frowned, but nodded. I could tell from Dixon's expression that he wasn't pleased at my behaviour, nor did he understand it. No one at the office did – because no one knew about Wittenberg. I pasted a smile on my face. "No problem." I said.

The rest of the briefing past in a blur and before I knew it I was striding back to my desk. Vaughn caught up with me just as I got there. "Syd..." he began.

I turned to face him and saw the apologetic look on his face. "I'm really sorry about last night." He said. "I was feeling a bit tired and frustrated with everything that's been going on... and I know that's not a good reason, but... I am sorry."

This time when I smiled it was genuine. "I understand." I said.

"Good." He smiled back. "How about I make it up to you by buying you an ice cream when you get back?"

"I'd like that." I replied.

* * *

We flew into Switzerland twelve hours later and I felt like I was slowly being suffocated. My father and I had not spoken a word to each other the whole flight that had not been terse, uncomfortable and focused on the mission. I needed a break to clear my head – probably the worst thing to happen right now when I needed to focus on the mission. My legs itched to run; the world narrowed to the breeze on my face and the rhythmic sound of my feet pounding the ground.

But, as usual, what I wished for wasn't going to happen. Fixing a vacant smile on my face, I adopted the ditzy persona to go with the long blonde wig and skyscraper heels I was wearing. Latching onto my father's arm, I tried to my hardest to act like a loving daughter as we walked through the doors of the elegant and discrete medical clinic.

I chatted away absent-mindedly as we walked up to the reception desk, talking about the latest fashions and how I just _couldn't_ be seen without the latest Prada handbag... As intended, people glanced over by gave me no real attention. I was just like every other too-rich daughter...

Taking out a makeup compact, I carefully powdered my nose as my father began talking with one of the doctors of the clinic, who was giving him the usual assurances of a "discrete clinic". Putting it down, I dug around in my purse again and dug out my lip gloss, which I also continued to apply, leaving the makeup compact sitting on the reception desk – right next to the computer.

"Shall I take you to see one of our private rooms, Mr. Donohue?" the clinic's salesman was saying. "So you can see for yourself?"

"That would lovely." My father said in a British accent. "Coming darling?"

"Ooh, goody!" I said, also using a British accent. "I can't wait to see what they look like! You must get the best views of the Alps from here! I was telling Suzy the other day that we should go skiing sometime..."

As I chattered on and Dad tried to look like a doting father, we wandered off towards the elevator and towards the upper levels of the clinic. I continued chattering away as we rode up to the fifth floor as the doctor began showing my father the facilities. Suddenly I stopped in my tracks, my hand going up to my mouth, almost in a parody of surprise. My father looked back at me, his expression all of doting concern. It was ironic that the best father/daughter relationship we had was when were in disguise.

"Oh no!" I cried.

"What is it, sweetheart?" my father asked.

I gave a ditzy laugh. "I left my makeup at the desk! I'm so silly."

"Well, you just go on and fetch it, darling." My father said. "We'll just be around the corner."

I saw the doctor who was showing us around roll his eyes slightly. I just grinned brightly, wanting this mission over as soon as possible. "Okay." I replied. "I won't be a minute."

Turning, I entered the elevator and made my way back down to the reception. "Base Ops, this is Mountaineer." I spoke softly, breaking radio silence for the pre-arranged check-in. "I'm on my way to pick up the disk."

"Copy that, Mountaineer." Vaughn's voice was reassuring to have in my ear.

Sauntering out of the lift, I walked over to the reception desk to grab the makeup compact I had deliberately left there. With apologies and a vacant smile, I grabbed it and sauntered back to the elevators. In the ten minutes it had been sitting next to the computer, the inbuilt wireless scanner would have successfully made a copy of the clinic's files.

The elevator opened with a discrete chime and I stepped in. Just as the doors were closing and I was about to make contact with Vaughn again, a woman pushed her way inside the lift, mumbling apologies in Swiss. I smiled vacantly at her and hoped she would get out before I did, so I could make contact with Vaughn again.

Suddenly, the woman spun around to face me. I tensed immediately, but there was no weapon in her hands. Her hair was long and blonde like mine, but it was straight where mine was curly. She wore a simple, but expensive designer suit that probably cost more than I earned in a year and large dark sunglasses covered her eyes. I regarded her tensely for a moment, wondering if the mission was about to go to shit.

"I bring a warning." She said and I could hear the urgency in her tone. Her voice held a curious lilt, as if the American accent she had abruptly adopted was not her own and her voice sounded strangely familiar to my ears. "Be careful who to trust, Sydney! Those close to you are not all they appear."

The use of my name by this stranger shocked me even more than her bizarre warning had. Part of me was grateful that apart from when I checked in with Vaughn, I was running radio silent on this mission. However, a larger part of me wanted to grab this woman, slam her up against the wall and demand she tell me what the fuck was going on. Before I could react, the elevator doors opened and the woman slipped out. I would have followed, demanded answers... but at the same time, an elderly patient and his nurse had stepped in, blocking my path. Forced to keep to the mission, I shoved the woman and her warning into a corner of my mind to worry about later. I was now determined more than ever to get this mission over and done with as soon as possible.

A few minutes later I strode into a room on the fifth floor to find the unconscious body of the doctor who had been showing us around lying on the nearby bed and my father waiting for me. Expertly and efficiently, I removed the small memory chip from the side of the compact and passed it to my father, who slid it into his PDA and waited for the files to download.

"Any problems?" he asked me, briefly looking up from the PDA.

"No, nothing." I lied.

There was a soft beep from the PDA as the clinic's files finished downloading. After a quick search through them, we had the answer we were looking for. "Room 542." My father said. "On this floor, east wing."

I nodded and the two of us began to move. Thankfully, the corridors of the fifth floor were deserted, so we saw no one who might question what we were doing. As we neared the room, Dad and I hesitated just around the corner, before he nodded to me. I nodded back and we both drew our guns. Carefully, Dad crept to the door of room 542 and opened it, before we burst inside. A second later, I let out a string of curses. The room was empty. Rumpled bedclothes hung half-on, half-off the bed, as if someone had left it in a hurry. One of the windows was wide open, curtains billowing in the breeze and a chair had been knocked over.

After a quick check of the room, Dad walked over to the bed. "It's still warm." He said, touching the sheets. "They can't have left more than ten minutes ago."

"It doesn't matter." I snapped in disgust. "Sloane will be long gone by now. And he'll go to ground after this – we won't have a chance in hell of finding them!"

My father gave me a sharp look. "We'll find them." He said firmly.

With a sigh, I turned on my comm. again to report the bad news. "Mountaineer to Base Ops." I said. "Sloane's gone."

"Gone?" Vaughn's shocked voice echoed.

"He must have paid off one of the staff." My father said. "Or maybe he saw us. It doesn't matter. He's gone."

"And he took everything with him." I added.

There was a slight pause on the other end of the comm. "Mountaineer, Raptor, you've got a bigger problem than that." Vaughn said, sounding tense. "Three security teams are en route to your location."

I shot a worried look towards my father, but his face was as impassive as ever. "Come on." He said, already moving to the door. "We'll go down the back stairs."

Shaking my head slightly, I followed him out of the room. He frowned when he looked over his shoulder at me. "We need a change of clothes." I said.

I saw the understanding flicker through my father's eyes almost before I'd finished my sentence, closely followed by what I could have sworn was pride. "I thought I saw a laundry room up the corridor." He simply said.

Just as my father had remembered, there was a laundry room a little further up the corridor and within seconds, both me and my father had come up with an alternate escape plan, being the highly trained spies that we were. The laundry room had everything we needed. The wealthy CEO and his ditzy daughter morphed into the sickly, wheelchair-bound patient and his young nurse.

Keeping my head down, I carefully wheeled my father down the corridor, heading towards the elevators. If this worked, then we should just be able to stroll out the front door. Under the blanket that covered his knees, my father was armed, both with his Sig and a tranquillizer gun, but I hoped we wouldn't need either of them.

We got into the elevator when it appeared and I pressed the button for the ground floor. Butterflies were doing somersaults in my stomach from nerves; it never stopped amazing me, but no matter how many missions I went on I always experienced that moment of pure, unadulterated fear that maybe this time it was over, that I'd get caught and killed. It didn't matter how many times people captured me and I escaped, or how many times I avoided death. It was always the same. So was the followed feel of the adrenaline kicking in, making me feel as if I was invincible.

A young doctor got into the elevator on the second floor, giving me a curious look when he saw me. "I haven't seen you around here before. Are you new?" he asked in Swiss.

I smiled back and nodded. "I'm Mr. Schmidt's personal nurse." I replied.

"Oh, the new patient from Bavaria?" the young doctor looked interested.

I nodded. "Yes, that's the one." I agreed.

Suddenly, the doctor's face turned stony. "There is no new patient from Bavaria!" he snapped, seconds before his eyes went hazy and he slid to the ground unconscious.

Looking down in surprise, I noticed the small tranquillizer dart sticking out of the man's neck and my father's hands around the grip of the tranquillizer gun, which was still pointed in the doctor's direction, before the elevator doors opened and everything went to shit. The ground floor broke into shouts and screams at the sight, as my father leapt to his feet and looked at me. "We have to get outside!" he said.

Tossing me my gun, which I hadn't been able to hide in my nurse's uniform, we sprinted out of the lobby of the medical clinic, dodging the security teams that were already running in our direction. I let off a few shots, careful where I aimed so as not to hit any of the screaming and running patients and staff. We burst out of the doors and I paused for a split-second, not sure which way to go.

"Sydney!" my father called urgently from my left; I turned and sprinted after him.

We darted around the corner of the building, leaping over hedges and spinning around startled patients. I grinned softly when I spotted what my father was heading for. Behind us, shouts rang out and once again I was thankful for the crowd; the security teams couldn't afford to shoot at us. The visitor's parking area was full of sleek, expensive cars – including one sleek, black Mercedes convertible. For an insane moment, I wondered if it belonged to a certain blue-eyed assassin, before dismissing the thought. Looking completely calm, Dad climbed into the car as if he owned it and began to hotwire it. I shot out the tyres of the nearby cars in hopes to delay our pursuers, before leaping into the Mercedes as Dad gunned the engine. We left them in the dust, Dad's expert driving and the odd gunshot from me making sure our pursuers never even came close.

* * *

I jerked awake from an uneasy sleep somewhere over the Atlantic, only to find I'd fallen asleep in front of my laptop. Looking over at my father, I saw he still slept, so I knew it wasn't him who had woken me. What had, I still wasn't sure. I had a vague feeling of trying to remember something, almost like the sensation when you saw something out of the corner of your eye. Nothing definite, but I _knew_ I'd been dreaming about my missing two years.

Something about the video Kendall had shown me and his explanation didn't ring true for me. I wasn't sure what it was, and despite how I was convinced that Kendall would have lied to my face given the right reasons, I don't think it was that. I had the distinct feeling that _I_ was the one who had held things back... kept secrets. But why? I must have known I'd remember, or what was the point of keeping secrets and then erasing my memory of them? It had been a year since Hong Kong... and still, I couldn't remember it.

I sighed, a truly weary sound, before I did what I always did when the frustration of trying to remember became too much – I turned my mind to other things. Shaking the sleep from my eyes, I went back to typing the report I had been writing before my nap. When a screen flashed up onto my laptop, I frowned. Then I let out a shocked gasp. Still trying to figure out what the other CIA team had been doing on a mission for the jewellery box when Kendall had sent me, I'd run a search for Agent Scott's name cropping up in any of the recent intelligence reports. I didn't know what I was searching for, but it seemed I had found something.

Only, the something wasn't good. With horror, I read the report and blinked when I saw the accompanying photos. Grainy and obviously taken from an orbiting satellite, they none the less captured the carnage of the scene. It seemed the office that Agent Scott and his team had been attached to in Washington had been completely destroyed last night. The office showed signs of gunfire, but it was the explosion that had torn most of it apart. Someone had wanted everyone in that office dead – and had gone to a lot of trouble to see it done. The only question was: why? And why did I have a feeling it had everything to do with Rambaldi?

Skimming to the bottom of the report, I was surprised to see that there had been a reported survivor... Agent Tomas Scott's body had not been with the deceased and it was assumed he had been a mole in the office to give whoever was responsible access. But somehow... that just didn't sit right in my mind. I didn't know Agent Scott. I'd never met him, yet something told me there was far more to this than was in the report. A bad feeling began curling in my gut...

...my life was about to get royally fucked. I could just tell.

To be continued...


	3. Betrayal

Author's Note: Thanks for the reviews! This chap has quite a bit of naughty language, so I beware! Let me know what you think ;)

Cheeky.

* * *

**Secrets and Lies**

By cheeky-chaos

"The illusion of freedom is better than none at all." – Jack Bristow

**Chapter Three**

Groaning, I slapped the alarm with far more force than necessary. It crashed to the floor, the loud noise drawing me further from sleep that the angry beeping had. Almost to insure that I didn't slink back into sleep, the phone rang a second later. Bleary eyed, I glared at the offending world. "Okay, I'm up!" I snapped.

Shoving the covers away, I staggered from my bed to snatch up my ringing cell phone. "Bristow." I said tiredly.

"Sydney, we have a situation. We need you here as soon as possible." My father said, with no preamble.

I sighed, knowing this was not going to be good. "I'll be there in twenty minutes." I replied, before saying a short goodbye and hanging up the phone.

Groaning, I stumbled into the kitchen to put the coffee maker on, knowing that I wasn't going to have any coherent thoughts until I'd had at least a cup. Waiting for it to percolate, I wondered absently what had happened now. Maybe Sark had turned up again and was threatening the world with some sort of global destruction or something.

I took a cup of coffee into the shower with me and true to my word, I was in the office in twenty minutes. My hair might have been a little damp, my shirt definitely had creases and I was pretty sure my socks didn't match, but I was there. And at 7:30 in the morning, just after getting off a long plane flight, I thought that was damn good.

"Hey, Syd." Weiss greeted warmly as we rode up in the lift together, still half-asleep.

"Hey." I replied. "Have any idea who's trying to destroy the world today?"

Weiss just shrugged. "Who knows?" he said. "Maybe today we'll get somebody new. Maybe the world's supermodels are revolting and threatening to not put on those teeny, tiny skirts anymore."

I smiled at Weiss's bright chatter as the doors opened, only to come face to face with my father. "Briefing." He said. "Two minutes."

Rolling my eyes to Weiss, I dumped my purse on my desk and headed to grab another coffee before we found out the next disaster we faced. Vaughn gave me a warm smile as I entered the room, looking as tired as I felt and I smiled warmly back. Taking a seat, I tried to clear the last of the exhaustion from my brain, just as Dixon and my father walked into the briefing room. "Thank you all for coming in early." Dixon began. "We received a report an hour ago on Sloane's location."

My heart began to pound in excitement, chasing away the earlier frustration at having just missed Sloane in Switzerland. Dixon shot me a knowing look as hundreds of questions burst into my head, but I managed to keep quiet as Dixon continued. "The report indicated that Sloane and Nadia are going after a Rambaldi artefact knows as _La angustia_." Dixon said.

I tried not to gasp in surprise at the familiarity of the name, holding my face as impassive as I could. _La angustia_ had been written all over the files I had found in Wittenberg – along with the information that the device could only be found by 'the Chosen One' (a.k.a. me). But I didn't want to think about the files I had found in Wittenberg – or the cold way my father had profiled me, right down to which Rambaldi artefacts I would find and how likely I would be to kill my mother when I found out who she was. And I certainly didn't want to think about the other person mentioned in those files!

"We decided that the best course of action would be to obtain the device before Sloane can and propose a trade." I realised with a start that my father had taken over the briefing while I had been lost in thought.

"The device for Nadia?" Vaughn asked as I tried to appear as if I had been listening the whole time.

My father nodded. "Agent Vaughn, Sydney, you leave for Bolivia in three hours."

Getting up to leave after the dismissal, I was not surprised when Vaughn wandered over to me. "Are you alright?" he asked. "You looked a little concerned."

I smiled brightly at him, determined not to let any of my worried thoughts show. "I just really want to get Sloane." I said, and it was the truth in a way. "I can't stand the thought of him loose in the world."

Vaughn grinned in understanding. "Me either." He agreed. "Hey, heading down to Marshall?"

"Yeah, in a second." I replied.

I headed back to my desk to shove my purse in the drawer and gather a few things before we headed down to Optech, while Vaughn waited a little way off talking to Weiss. My cell phone rang just as I reached my desk. "Bristow." I answered.

"Sydney Bristow?" an unknown male voice asked.

"Who is this?" I demanded.

The man on the other end of the line hesitated for a second. "It doesn't matter." He said. "You're in danger, Agent Bristow."

Immediately, his warning brought back memories of the strange woman in Switzerland. "In danger?" I echoed. "Who is this?"

By now, I was getting mad. The man hesistated again and I thought I heard him sigh softly. "My name is Thomas Scott." He said.

My eyebrows rose slightly at his admission and I gazed surreptitiously from side to side around me. Carefully, I moved to a more secluded corner of the office. "Agent Scott?" I said. "Your team was supposed to have been killed two days ago." I left the _by you_ unsaid, but I knew Agent Scott would have been able to hear it anyway.

"We had a mole in our office." Agent Scott said shortly.

Some instinct told me he was telling the truth, despite what the report had said. But still... Agent Scott had been the only one to walk away. "No one else survived the explosion." I told him.

"He wouldn't have." Scott said somewhat coldly. "He was shot in the head by the same guys who shot up the office."

A convenient explanation, but inexplicably, I believed him. "So why am I in danger?" I asked.

"There's another mole in your office." Scott replied.

I blinked in surprise at his answer. "There was." I growled as Lauren Reed's face flashed before my eyes.

"I'm not talking about Lauren Reed." Scott said.

"How did you..?"

"Kendall." Scott interrupted. "Look... there's something I need to tell you, but I can't do it over the phone. Can I meet you somewhere?"

Thinking fast, I ran through possibilities in my head. I still wasn't entirely sure why I trusted the man, but I did. "Bolivia." I said. "La Paz, in twelve hours. Murillo Square, next to the statue."

"I'll be there." Scott agreed, before hanging up.

I joined Vaughn again a second later and noticed the curious expression in his eyes, having obviously noticed my phone call. Not sure why, I hesitated before telling him what it was about. "It everything okay?" he asked.

"Sure." I smiled brightly. "Just the doctor."

"The doctor?" Vaughn looked concerned.

"Yeah, just a check up." When Vaughn continued to look concerned, I explained a little more, hoping that my lie would just get him to drop the issue. "You know, the one girls have to do from time to time..."

He blushed slightly as we headed for the elevator down to Marshall's lab. "Right." He said, as we headed off to see our boisterous friend for the mission plan.

* * *

Twelve hours later, I stood next to the statue of Pedro Domingo Murillo as the cool night breeze ruffled my hair. Persuading Vaughn that I just wanted to go for a short night walk had been fairly hard, but thankfully he had been tired after our plane trip (the flight was spent squashed in the economy section as we played happy tourists), and let me leave after a token protest. Which left me impatiently waiting for Scott to show and hoping that by trusting my gut, I wasn't walking into a trap. 

"Sydney?" a voice asked softly from behind me.

I turned to find the same man I had seen in Budapest standing just off to the side. He wore black – jeans and light jumper – and his face was just how I remembered it. The slate-grey eyes still held the same observant and intelligent gleam and the strange scar twisted on his forehead. "Agent Scott." I returned with a short nod, relaxing enough to take my hand away from the gun I had hidden in the waist of my jeans.

Scott's eyes narrowed. "How did you know it was me?" he asked. "And just how did you find out about what happened in Washington? The report about my office would have buried under hundreds of others. You wouldn't have seen it unless you were looking."

His terse demand caused me to glare back at him, but he was right to be concerned. I would have... hell, I was! I decided the only way I was going to get anywhere was to be truthful. "I saw you in Budapest. I wanted to find out who you were." I said.

"That was you?" Scott snapped, looking surprised. "What the fuck were you up to?"

Seeing the sudden tense and accusing look on his face, I shook my head. "It's not what you think. Kendall sent me."

"What the..?" Scott said, but it seemed to make him relax just a little. "Why would he send you when he knew we were going?"

The last seemed to be muttered more to himself, than me, but I answered anyway. "Maybe he doesn't want anyone to know that he has the jewellery box." I said.

Scott sent me a sharp look. "That makes sense." He said, rubbing a hand over his close cropped black hair. "He works for the Trust. It's them who probably wanted it."

"He works for the Trust?" I snapped, a bit too loudly, because Scott took my arm and guided me to the shadows under one of the nearby trees.

"Yeah." He answered, then sighed. "This is not why I came. Why did you trust me enough to meet me alone?"

I shrugged slightly. "My gut." I answered truthfully.

Scott seemed to find this a perfectly reasonable, if slightly amusing, answer. "Did you tell anyone you were meeting me?"

"No." I shook my head.

Scott seemed relieved at this. "Good." He said. "I think the mole is someone very close to you. Someone you trust."

"What makes you think there's a mole at all?" I asked. "It could just be a result of what Lauren Reed was up to."

"It's not." Scott said. "When I found out about the mole in my office, I searched his computer. There was communication on it... from your office. And the sender was definitely a man."

A shiver went through me as my mind automatically began to try and find anyone who was acting suspiciously. "What makes you think they're close to me?" I asked.

"Because it mentioned that you were being watched." Scott answered.

I shivered again, anger rising. "Fuck." I swore. "Why does the scum of this world always have to end up stalking me?"

Scott shrugged apologetically. "Rambaldi." He answered. "I'll try and find out anything I can and pass it on, but you need to be careful."

"Why?" I asked before I could stop myself.

Scott smiled slightly. "Because I don't like Rambaldi anymore than you seem to and because it would be nice to have your help when I try and convince the CIA that I didn't betray them."

"Done." I agreed and put out my hand for him to shake.

With a start of surprise, Scott looked down and then back up at the determined expression I was sure was in my eyes. "Done." He echoed and shook my hand.

* * *

The climb to the hiding place of _La angustia_ was hard, but I enjoyed it after all the stress of the last week. I'd always enjoyed the outdoors and even climbing in the Andes was fun... as a change, anyway. I'm not sure I wanted to do this every mission. Vaughn was great company, which also helped I imagine. For a while there, all my worries fell away and we were just like we had been before my missing two years. 

Taking a long drink from my water bottle, I looked over at Vaughn. "How much longer?" I asked.

"Not much." Vaughn answered. "A few feet or so."

Smiling at him, I continued to climb, eventually reaching a small flat area that opened out into the mouth of a large cave. "Bingo." I muttered when I caught sight of the Rambaldi symbol etched above the entrance.

Coming up beside me, Vaughn paused for a minute to catch his breath, before looking towards me. "Let's go." He said.

We entered the cave, after getting out the torches we had brought with us, and followed the narrow rock corridor deeper inside the mountain. When the passage finally widened, Vaughn and I found ourselves in a wide stone cavern with a large hole in the roof that let in the early afternoon sunlight. Along the farthest wall were rows and rows of metal doors set into the rock, each having a number etched into them. They were half rusted and covered in dust and cobwebs, but they still looked remarkably solid. Vaughn cursed softly when he caught sight of them. "Which one is it supposed to be?" he asked.

I grimaced and shrugged. "No idea." I said, but the words of the Wittenberg files was coming back to haunt me.

_The Chosen One is the only one to find _La angustia_, as only she will know which one it is..._

"Great." Vaughn muttered before digging around in his pack for a crowbar. "Give me a hand, will you?"

Half an hour later, we were hot, frustrated and no closer to finding _La angustia_ than we had been when we started. Not only were the doors almost impossible to open, but the two we had opened had been completely empty. "This could take weeks!" I snapped, annoyed.

"Come on." Vaughn said reassuringly. "There's got to be something here that gives us a clue. Something about Rambaldi..."

I was struck by a sudden thought. "Of course!" I grinned in triumph. "Number 47!"

Walking over to inspect the doors again, I grinned when I found number 47. Coasting my fingers lightly over the metal, I looked at the ancient metal for a small gap to help pry it open as Vaughn wearily grabbed the crowbar behind me. Then I saw something weird... "Ow!" I said, followed by a string of curses, when I cut my thumb on a jagged stretch of metal.

Then I almost jumped when the door gave a slight hiss, groaned and then popped open. "Shit..." I breathed, opening it. "Vaughn!" I called out in a louder voice. "I found it..."

Trailing off in horror, my eyes widened when I caught sight of the scene behind me. Everything seemed to take place in slow motion as I felt my entire world shatter around me. My heart broke into a million pieces and almost absently I became aware that I had started sobbing. Vaughn stood in front of me, a disgusted expression on his face, as he held a silenced Glock in my direction. Standing right beside him, a gun also in her black gloved hands, was Lauren Reed. A woman who was supposed to be _dead_, for fuck's sake!

"Hello, Sydney." Lauren said maliciously as my word continued to shatter around me, before walking over to Vaughn and placing a possessive kiss against his lips.

Vaughn smiled coldly as Lauren stepped away and part of my mind was screaming at me to do _something_, but I just couldn't move. "Give me the artefact, Syd." Vaughn said.

"Why?" I sobbed. "Why, Vaughn? How could you do this?"

Vaughn sneered at me. "Well, for starters, my name isn't Michael Vaughn." He said. "It's Cole Reynard. And how do you think, Sydney? I was planted at the CIA so I could get close to you... you are, after all, the Chosen One."

I felt sick as Vau... no, Reynard's... words echoed in the air. "You were a plant?" I repeated dumbly. "This was all... a lie?"

"A very distasteful one, too." Vaughn/Reynard continued. "If I'd had to pretend to be that sickeningly devoted and patriotic 'Vaughn' for one more day, I might just have snapped and shot everyone."

Vaughn/Reynard's green eyes hardened. I still couldn't believe the man I loved had turned out to be an evil plant... anymore than I could watch Vaughn's beloved eyes look at me with cold disgust. "Hand over the device, Sydney." He said. "Don't make this any more painful than it has to be..."

Before anything else could happen, the survival instinct I had honed from years as a spy and double-agent kicked in. I threw the device at Lauren, causing her to shift her aim from me in order to catch it, before snapping out a roundhouse kick at Vaughn/Reynard's gun. He dropped it with a curse, but blocked the punch I had aimed at his face. Twisting my body, I lashed out with another furious kick and sent Vaughn/Reynard staggering backwards. Abruptly, gunshots echoed around the cave and I scrambled for cover, not sure who was shooting. I was still so shocked from Vaughn's betrayal that it didn't even occur to me that I still had my gun in the waistband of my jeans.

Leaning back against a pile of rock that I was hiding behind, I felt my hands begin to tremble again and tears gather in my eyes. This could not be happening to me!

"Sydney!" I harsh, but very familiar voice snapped out as a black-gloved hand grabbed my chin hard enough to leave bruises.

I found myself staring into an Arctic blue gaze as bullets whizzed around us, throwing chunks of rock into the air when they hit the cave walls. What the fuck was Sark doing here? Belatedly, I realised he must have been the shooter. "Sark?" I yelled in surprise, jerking my head backwards to escape his grip and cursing when my head slammed against rock.

Thankfully, the pain helped clear some of the daze from my mind. "What the fuck are you doing?" I snapped as he let off a few shots.

Turning cold blue eyes in my direction, Sark smirked. "I would have thought that was obvious, Agent Bristow." He said. "Saving your life."

The arrogance in his words jolted me from the rest of the daze, and I snarled wordlessly in his direction as I whipped out my own gun and peered above the cover of the rocks. Spotting Vaughn/Reynard near the entrance to the cave, I glared at him before squeezing off a few bullets, cursing when he managed to avoid them all. Rage began to replace the shock and I concentrated on killing the people that had caused me such pain, blocking out everything but the black-clad assassin next to me.

"Fuck!" I snarled when I ran out of bullets and had to fish around in my pocket for a new clip.

Taking his opportunity, Vaughn/Reynard headed for the entrance and escape, Lauren hard on his heels. When I leapt to my feet to follow them, Sark grabbed my arm and yanked me back down again. "They've got re-enforcements outside the cave." He replied to my furious glare. "Their orders were to capture you and they didn't think they'd manage it without a fight."

When I made no move to leap to my feet again, Sark let go of my arm, before smirking in my direction. "Of course, they should have known it was even stupid to try."

"Why are you helping me?" I asked in a hollow voice, the betrayal catching up with me as the immediate danger past.

"Perhaps we can discuss this in the car?" Sark asked, almost conversationally as we both heard scuffling noises near the mouth of the cave.

"What makes you think I'm going anywhere with you?" I snapped, but it lacked any of my usual venom or anger.

Sark arched an eyebrow and replied in that condescending way of his. "Because how else are you going to get back to civilisation?"

When he saw that he was going to get no response from me, he scowled and grabbed my chin again. "If you're not going to help me rescue you, Bristow, I _will_ leave you behind."

"After all the effort you put into rescuing me?" I asked dully.

Sark smirked again. "I am a cold-blooded bastard, after all." He answered, repeating my often-used insult.

Transferring his grip to my arm, he yanked me none to gently to my feet and tugged me to the back of the cave and down a hidden passage I had not spotted before. Rising out of my morose feelings of betrayal enough to shake off his grip, I followed him as he headed at a reasonable jog down the twisting corridor and back out into the sunshine, this time on the opposite side of the mountain. We made it down the mountain-side in record time and I had to snort in disbelief when I saw the expensive black Mercedes parked a little below us.

Whatever retort Sark was going to shoot back was lost as he grabbed my arm again and yanked me behind a tree. I found out why a second later as bullets bit into the dirt where we had been standing. Giving me a sharp look, Sark raised an eyebrow. "Are you going to fall apart again, Bristow?" he asked.

"No!" I snapped, yanking the gun from my waistband.

Pointedly ignoring him, I turned to fire back on our pursuers, noticing that Vaughn/Reynard and Lauren were now accompanied by at least three other men. I fired back, my gaze narrowing on the bastard that had betrayed me after everything I had gone through for him...

Crying out in pain as agony burst into life on the side of my head, I almost dropped my gun as I sagged to the ground. With what sounded like a long suffering sigh, Sark tugged my arm again so that I was more hidden by the tree, but kept firing. "Jesus, Bristow." He said to me. "Did you even see the one on your left?"

When his clip ran out, Sark ducked down as low as he could as automatic fire thudded into the tree's trunk above. Digging in his pocket, he drew out another clip and his car keys. "Don't even think about leaving me behind." He said, passing the keys to me. "I mean it, Bristow."

Pain still shooting agonising pains through my head, I barely stopped long enough to glare at the man that had been my hated rival for so long, before crawling down the narrow track behind us towards the car. Blood slid in a hot, sticky track down the side of my face, staining my sleeve red when I reached up to wipe it away and I knew the head wound was a bad one. The way my vision kept wavering in and out of focus was also a clue. Of course, it could have been worse – I could be dead.

Fumbling with the keys when I got the car, I just managed to get the door opened before Sark joined me. With a cold glare, he took the keys from me hand, shoved me in the passenger door and was in the driver's seat with the engine running before I could even get my door shut. Slamming the car into reverse as bullets raked the air where the bonnet had been a split-second ago, he swung the car around on the dirt road in a cloud of dust, before roaring off at breakneck speed.

I leaned gingerly against the back of my seat, my head throbbing worse than ever and maintained my death grip on the armrest beside me as Sark swung the car wildly around turns. Slowing the speed a little when no cars pursued us, Sark shot me an icy glance, before opening the glovebox and fishing out a wad of white gauze. "Try not to bleed too much on the seat." He said. "It is leather."

Grimacing, I pressed the gauze to the wound on my head as a wave of nausea swamped me. White spots danced across my vision and I knew I was seconds away from passing out. "Just don't dump me in a gutter somewhere." I told Sark before the darkness claimed me.

* * *

When I woke again, I found to my amazement that I was lying in the soft sheet of what looked like a hotel – and not a cheap one at that. I had to smile slightly at that, despite the completely surreal nature of the situation. Trust Sark not to want to rough it. Groaning slightly as I sat up, I noticed that my head didn't spin too badly and the pain almost felt less brutal that a torture session with the North Koreans. 

Glancing to my side, I noticed that someone had thoughtfully left a glass of water and a bottle of painkillers next to the lamp. I didn't want to acknowledge that it had been Sark, because Sark and thoughtful just didn't belong in the same sentence. Swallowing a couple, I absently gazed about the room as I waited for them to kick in. The room was elegantly decorated, with two small bedside tables on either side of the double bed I was lying in and I could see a glimpse of the bathroom through the partially open door. A small table sat beyond the bedroom, in what looked like a sitting area.

When I felt a stab of pain in my head, I reached up to find that someone had cleaned my wound and carefully placed a plaster on top. Again, I couldn't believe this was Sark. Had I found the room strewn with the bodies of its former occupants, I would not have hesitated to believe Sark was responsible... but making sure I was alright and leaving painkillers for me? That was _not_ the Sark I was used to.

With a small gasp, I looked down and found that he had also changed my clothes. Bastard. At least that was more in character. Sark wouldn't have let a little thing like unconsciousness stop him from getting a look. Sighing, I carefully got to me feet to walk around the room. I saw the neatly followed pile of clothes sitting on a chair in the bathroom, my gun sitting on top, along with soap, a toothbrush and a razor. Wandering through to the sitting room, I also found it empty of smirking, icy-eyed assassins. But then I had already known Sark would be long gone.

What I did find, however, was a note and two envelopes sitting on the table in the sitting area. Walking closer, I picked up the note first, noting the neat handwriting and knowing it could only have been written by Sark.

_Bristow,_

_There is no need to gush your wondrous thanks for the rescue. It was not a purely selfless act, I assure you. Simply put: you are no good to me dead. I have left two plane tickets and passports for you. One will take you back to your father and the disgustingly boring life you had at the CIA. The other will send you to Ireland. If you're finally ready to see the light and start working for me, take it. I will find you. And please, do me the courtesy of _not_ sending an armed group of CIA agents to meet me. I did save your life, after all. And you've ruined one of my cars already._

_S._

The note was arrogant and condescending and just oh, so Sark. It almost made me smile. Then his words crashing down on me and I realised just what had led me to this moment in the first place. Vaughn wasn't Vaughn and he had betrayed me. Sark had saved my life.

What did it all mean? And, more importantly, what the fuck was I going to do now?

To be continued...


	4. CIA's Most Wanted

Author's Note: Again, thanks for your reviews guys! Feedback is very much appreciated!

Cheeky.

* * *

**Secrets and Lies**

By cheeky-chaos

"Truth takes time." – Irina Derevko

**Chapter Four**

The long, hot shower did wonders to relax my muscles and ease the pain in my head. I was actually reluctant to come out and face reality – finding out exactly where I was and how I was going to tell everyone back in LA about Vaughn's treachery. Dressing in the clothes Sark had left for me, a strange occurrence on its own, I resisted the urge to roll my eyes when I saw that even though it was simply jeans, a t-shirt and a sweater, they all had designer labels. It was nice, though. It's not like I could usually afford clothes this nice. And just how Sark knew what size I was, I'll never know.

Gathering everything I had come with and trying to cover my bandaged head as best as I could with a hat, I headed downstairs and wondered how the hell I was going to pay for the room. I had a little money, sure. Sark had thought to leave me with what appeared to be a cab fare to the airport, but that was it. Certainly not enough to cover the cost of the room. But it turned out I was worried for nothing – Sark had paid for the room as well. Unsettled by his consistent thoughtfulness, I headed out of the hotel and onto the busy streets of Tacna, Peru.

Since worry was curling in my gut, making me faintly nauseous and I had already missed the rendezvous by about twelve hours, I headed for the closest payphone I could find and immediately dialled the CIA. After passing my officer number through the operator, I was patched through to Dixon's office. It had taken less than two minutes, but I impatiently tapped my foot the whole time. I needed to let them know about Vaughn!

"Bristow." The voice answered on Dixon's line.

I was so shocked by my father picking up Dixon's phone that I didn't speak for a few seconds. What was he doing in Dixon's office? And where was Dixon? He never usually let people pick up his phone...

"Hello?" My father repeated.

"Dad?"

"Sydney?" my Dad's voice immediately became more concerned.

"It's me." I said impatiently. "Listen, I have something important..."

My father cut me off before I could say any more. "Yes, I understand that you have something to say, but like I told you in Paris." He said. "I don't think I want to discuss it with you."

I was confused by his response for a beat, before it dawned on me. This was code... something my father and I had not had to use for a long time. It was something we developed during our days with SD-6 and this particular one meant that the phone line was bugged and something was wrong. I began to get a terrible feeling. The thought that Vaughn might go back to the CIA after what he had done to me had never once crossed my mind. But what if he had?

"Dad?" I said, playing along. "About Paris. I need to say this..."

"Sydney, I don't want to hear it." My father stressed. "We have nothing further to discuss."

As I listened to the dial tone, I wondered what had just happened. The message was clear: the phone was bugged and it wasn't safe to talk. Which only meant one thing – Vaughn had gone back and somehow, I don't think he had nice things to say about me. Just as I was turning away from the pay phone, it rang again.

I debated whether or not to answer it, but went with my instinct and picked it up. "Hello?" I answered cautiously.

"Sydney?" my father's voice asked.

"Dad!" I said in a rush of relief. He wouldn't have called if he couldn't talk and I wondered if he was on his cell. "What's going on?"

"I can't talk for long." He said. "But you should know that Vaughn came back from La Paz with a bullet wound to the arm, claiming you shot him and have secretly been working for someone else ever since you woke up in Hong Kong. He even went so far as to say that your amnesia was faked."

"That's not true!" I exploded, shocked and outraged that he would say that. "Dad, you should know..."

"I do know, Sydney." He said. "And I don't know what Vaughn is up to..."

"His name isn't Vaughn, Dad." This time it was me who interrupted. "His name is Cole Reynard. He's a plant."

There was a slight pause. "How do you know this?" he asked sharply.

"He told me."

Dad swore. "You have to be careful, Sydney." He said. "Stay low. I'm going to try and find out what's going on. I'll contact you as soon as I can."

Before I could say anything else, Dad hung up. I sighed. It seemed my father was back to his dictatorial behaviour again. I hung up the pay phone and began to wander down the street, lost in thought. The time had finally come to make a decision. Which way was I going to go now? It was obvious that I couldn't just go back to LA and the CIA, so that left Ireland and Sark. But was I really going to go and work with my sworn enemy, just like that? It would certainly reinforce whatever lies Vaughn/Reynard was telling about me.

One thing was certain: I wasn't just going to sit around and hide. I was going to do something about the shattered mess that my life had become. And I suppose that took resources I didn't have. Sure, I had some money stashed away and a couple of safehouses I could use, but they wouldn't get me very far. I'd lost most of my contacts during my missing two years and still hadn't found time to make new ones, so finding information on my own was going to be hard.

And then, there was always the fact that Sark was the other person mentioned in the Wittenberg files...

I came to a complete halt when I realised I had already come to a decision. I was going to Ireland. Sark had resources I couldn't even begin to imagine and if I was going to get to the bottom of this, I was going to need help. Besides, he _had_ rescued me in La Paz and that had to count for something, right? And it wasn't like I couldn't take him if he tried anything, anyway. No matter what else was fucked up about my life, I could always count on my ability to kick Sark's ass.

With a glance at my watch, I grimaced and hailed the first taxi I saw. If I was going to make that flight, I'd better get to the airport as soon as possible.

* * *

Grumpy, hungry and with little more than the clothes on my back and a few dollars in my pocket, I sighed heavily and wondered what the hell I was going to do now. I was stuck in Dublin's international airport and had been for an hour now. There was no sign of Sark, the bastard. He was probably off somewhere laughing his ass off that I would actually consider doing this. And it wasn't doing anything for the doubts I had about the insanity of working with my sworn enemy, either.

As if my thoughts had conjured him out of thin air, I heard the silky smooth British accent beside me and turned to find Sark standing next to me, dressed as usual in Armani. "I didn't think you would actually take up my offer, Agent Bristow." He said.

"Yeah, well, I didn't think I'd actually make the CIA's most wanted list, either." I snapped back.

His eyebrow's rose at this, but the blank expression remained in his cold blue eyes. "You're on the CIA's most wanted list?" he asked, gesturing for us to leave the airport.

"Yes." I said, my disgust clearly evident in my tone. It had been one of the few things I had been able to find out before my flight. "Apparently the man I knew as Vaughn has convinced the CIA that I have turned traitor and tried to kill him."

"That was to be expected, but I have to admit that I didn't think he would be so willing to return to his alias and the CIA." Sark replied calmly, as if he didn't care at this turn of events.

Maybe he didn't. "Maybe he didn't get everything he needed." I suggested.

"It's possible." Sark replied. "But it's more probable that he decided to prevent you from returning to your friends. His employers seem to want you quite badly considering the risks and resources involved in the La Paz operation."

By now we had reached the front of the airport, and lo and behold, there was an expensive black car waiting for us. I wasn't really surprised. Wherever Sark was, you could be assured you'd find an expensive black car as well. As I slid into the luxurious seat, I told myself that I wasn't jealous of all his money at all. But even I knew it was a lie.

"How do you know all this?" I asked as we pulled out into the traffic.

Sark shot me a glance, his expression surprised I didn't already know the answer. Bastard. "I only considered coming to your rescue, Sydney, when it became obvious that even your multitude of talents would not suffice." He replied.

"So you're saying I couldn't have gotten out of that by myself?" I snapped, feeling a little offended at his tone.

"Could you have?" Instead of condescending, like I had expected, Sark's question was soft and the piercing stare he gave me saw past my armour to what I really felt.

"No." I whispered, hating that he had made me admit it. Truth be known, the shock of Vaughn's betrayal had been so unexpected and painful that without Sark I would now be at the mercy of him and whoever he worked for.

Memories of the betrayal and everything it meant was too fresh, so I ignored the pain and did what I always did – focused on the anger. "I want to destroy that bastard." I growled, not even needing to tell Sark who I meant. "And whoever he works for."

"I assumed you would." He said. "But why not return to America and your friends? Surely they would be able to help you even if the CIA does not believe you?"

I gave a disbelieving snort. "What friends?" I said. "There's nothing left for me there anymore."

"Not even the ever friendly Marshall Flinkmann?" Sark asked.

I felt a pang at the mention of Marshall's name; he was probably the only person who had ever really remained my friend through it all. But, as true a friend as he was, I wasn't willing to drag Marshall down with me, particularly not now that he had a son, and besides, as much as I loved Marshall, he really wasn't any good with a gun. And I had a feeling I was going to need someone to watch my back. Of course, that statement might not really be applicable to Sark either...

"I don't want to drag him into this." I said.

"Drag him into what?" the tone was mild, but I could tell Sark was very interested in the answer. There were benefits to knowing your opponent, it seemed.

I felt my expression shut down into a cold mask. "I'm sick of being the perfect Sydney Bristow. I lost two years of my life and everything else I ever cared about to the scum that rules this planet. I think it's finally time to do something about it." I growled.

Sark was silent for a moment and when he replied, his expression was carefully neutral. "Are you saying that you don't mind getting your hands a little dirty?" he asked mildly.

"I'm saying," I snapped, spelling it out as best as I could, "that I want to take these bastards down and destroy anything to do with Rambaldi... no matter what it takes!"

Again there was silence as Sark steered the car onto a freeway and accelerated. "And what makes you think I'd be willing to help you with this?" he asked, back to being the cold-eyed bastard I knew he was.

"Because you wouldn't have left me the ticket, Sark." I said. "We both know I'm not the minion type."

Sark smirked at this. "No." He agreed. "You're not. I'm glad you've finally realised this, Sydney."

"What do you mean, finally?" I snapped.

Sark shot me a glance out the corner of his eye. "Please do not tell me that you believed you were anything else to the CIA but a pawn?"

I opened my mouth to automatically reply of course I hadn't been, when I actually stopped to think. And I realised that his words were true – I had never been anything more than a pawn to anyone at the CIA. Even Dixon. With a sigh, I closed my eyes and slumped back against the seat. "You're right." I agreed.

"Of course I am." Sark said and I could hear the smirk in his voice.

There was silence for a minute, but it wasn't as uncomfortable as I thought it would be. My life had taken a sudden turn and as painful as Vaughn's betrayal had been – and I knew I hadn't even begun to deal with that yet – finally beginning to see the truth for what it was had a liberating feel to it. As did finally deciding something by myself. I could safely say that deciding to work with Sark had been my idea. And it felt surprisingly good – particularly since I had just aligned myself with a cold-blooded assassin and someone who was higher on the CIA wanted list than I was (at the moment).

"So where are we going, anyway?" I asked finally.

"Galway." Sark replied. "Your friend Marshall was indeed correct about that."

"You live there?" I asked, more as an attempt to keep the conversation going that actual curiosity. I was suddenly completely exhausted, both physically and emotionally.

Sark slid me another glance, as if knowing that I wasn't really involved in the conversation anymore. "Yes." He answered. "Amongst other places."

I settled back to enjoy the ride, not really interested in continuing the conversation. Strangely, I didn't feel too concerned at being alone with Sark either. "I'll wake you when we arrive." Sark said.

I frowned at him, but the glare lacked its usual heat. Sark just smirked. "You're tired, Bristow." He said. "I promise not to kill you if you happen to fall asleep."

"I wouldn't be sitting in this car if I thought you were going to kill me." I said, irritated that he knew me so well.

Sark chuckled. "You might be." He said. "But you would definitely be armed."

I glared at him again and cursed the fact that I had had to dump my gun before I had boarded the plane. It had probably been a good thing, considering the gun was CIA-issue, but it irritated me no end that Sark had spotted I was unarmed. He wouldn't be as good at his job if he hadn't, I know, but still. I didn't like it.

"Go to sleep, Sydney." Sark said. "I promise I'll get you a new gun so you can try to shoot me later."

Muttering something under my breath, I turned to the window. "What was that, Sydney?" Sark asked, amusement clear in his voice. "I didn't quite catch that."

"I said," I repeated a little louder, "that I'd do more than shoot you if you didn't shut up."

Sark chuckled. "I'm almost tempted to keep talking just to find out what you'd do." He said.

In the hopes of keeping my sanity for just a little while longer, I chose to ignore the comment and let my eyes drift shut. It didn't take long to fall asleep, even sitting next to an assassin like I was, and before I knew it, we had arrived in Galway.

* * *

The dream came in fits and starts, but this time, unlike all the others, I could remember it when I woke up. Sark had shaken my awake when we had arrived in Galway and I soon found myself in a very plush looking penthouse apartment in the centre of the city. I didn't even bat an eyelid at the luxury this time, having finally realised that Sark like the creature comforts of life. And it was definitely nice after the cheap and sometimes crumbling CIA safehouses I was used to.

I walked over to the floor to ceiling windows that overlooked the night view of Galway City and considered what I remembered about my dream. I could definitely say that there were some things left out of my explanation of my missing two years now. Along with fragments of pain and torture, I could remember a vivid picture of a smiling dark-haired woman a little younger than me. Along with the woman, I got the sense that there was something large that I was missing – something life-changing. Something that had everything to do with Vaughn's betrayal and why I had to wipe my memory. And I think it was more than the location of the Cube.

"I'm afraid I wasn't expecting you, so I have no clothes for you to change into." Sark said coming up behind me. "So I'm afraid you are reduced to wearing some of mine. I can assure you they have just been washed, so there is no need to worry about germs."

As I wordlessly took the bundle of clothes Sark handed to me, I couldn't help being confronted by his thoughtfulness again. Taking in his cold smirk, I decided to do the unexpected – I thanked him. Watching the surprised expression he tried to hide was priceless. "You can take the spare room." He said. "Second door on the left."

"Thanks." I said again, this time with a smirk of my own. "I guess I'll see you in the morning then."

"Indeed." Sark replied. "Goodnight, Sydney."

"'Night, Sark." I replied, feeling just as weirded out by that as he seemed to.

* * *

Lauren grunted in annoyance as she sat in the Internet Cafe typing carefully on her laptop. The Manhattan cafe was a local hotspot for young professionals, so she didn't stand out and the coffee next to her, along with the business suit she wore helped project an image of the busy professional. Of course, she was far from in the same profession as those around her, but they didn't know that.

Even the dirty suggestions her partner Reynard was making wasn't enough to lift her out of the bad mood she was in. Her employers had been riding her hard ever since Sydney had escaped in La Paz. Thankfully, Reynard's damage control with the CIA had helped deflect some of the irritation, but nothing seemed to stop it completely. For some reason, the whole world seemed obsessed with Sydney Bristow and the fact grated on Lauren. She didn't see what was so special about the CIA's former golden girl. Lauren had to admit that the fact she was now on the CIA's most wanted list was very amusing.

Right now, she was supposed to be finding out where Sydney had disappeared to, but neither she nor Reynard were having any luck. Her aborted phone call to Jack Bristow was worrying, but the CIA had put a stop to that conversation quickly. Lauren was sure that Sydney would try to contact her father again, but that had become Reynard's responsibility. She just had to find out where Sydney was hiding so they could get to her before the CIA did.

Maybe it was time to call in a favour or two. Lauren smiled at the thought. Yes, that's what she would do. She'd spent the last year successfully seducing Mr. Sark and if anyone would have some insights into Sydney Bristow, it would be him. Lauren's smile widened when she thought of Sark's response to finding her alive. He would be quite pleased, she suspected. So yes, this was a good plan. And an enjoyable one it would be too.

To be continued...


	5. Ireland

Author's Note: Just wanted to say a special thank you to aeletha and phi4858 for all your reviews. Thanks guys! Sorry this chapter has taken a while, but I caught the flu and have been in bed for weeks :( Hopefully, the next one won't take so long!

Cheeky.

* * *

**Secrets and Lies**

By cheeky-chaos

"Write this down: E-M-E-T-I-B. You got it? Now reverse it." – Sydney Bristow

**Chapter Five**

The next morning, I woke up to a throbbing headache and the sense that I had yet again dreamt of something important but couldn't remember what it was. Completely frustrated by this and the situation I found myself in, I dragged my weary body out of bed and wondered just what else was going to happen to me.

Grimacing as reality crashed around me once more, I was forced to acknowledge that, yes, I was still wearing Sark's sweats and standing in Sark's guest bedroom. And yes, Vaughn had betrayed me. The despair and anger surged through me again, driving away the little bit of peace that I had been granted this morning and I decided my life was too difficult to think about without coffee... and some decent painkillers.

I wandered through to the kitchen and found, to my delight, that someone (who could only be Sark, as surreal as that was) had put the coffee on. Gratefully, I poured myself a cup and sipped the delicious liquid. Slowly, my brain cells began to fire and I began to wonder at the silence in the apartment. I had slept late, as physically tired as I was emotionally drained, and had expected Sark to be up well before me – which he evidently was, unless the coffee had turned on by itself. So where was he?

Coffee in hand, I began to wander around the elegantly furnished penthouse apartment, but I could see no sign of Sark anywhere. Not really wanting to intrude if he was still in his bedroom and since there were no sounds of a shower, I wandered into the lounge and stopped in surprise.

Sark was outside on the balcony that overlooked the River Corrib and the stormy looking grey sky. But it was not his appearance that had stopped me in my tracks – rather, the elegant and precise movements he was making. I watched, transfixed, as Sark sinuously moved through the steps of Tai Chi. His movements flowed gracefully, but there was an edge to them; a sense of danger that I had always associated with Sark. He rather reminded me of a panther I had once seen at a zoo – tightly controlled, mesmerising and all too deadly.

The scent of incense caught my nose and I shifted my gaze from Sark long enough to take in the two small pots of bamboo and the matt that covered the tiled balcony floor where Sark was doing his Tia Chi. The incense was perched on top of a small bench in between the two pots of bamboo. Sark was dressed in a pair of loose sweat pants and a singlet, neither of which were black to my surprise, and his eyes were closed. Taking a sip of my coffee, I was once again mesmerised by the controlled power in Sark's actions and the look of peace that was on his face. There was a brief, but unmistakable sensation of familiarity at the sight. I felt like I had seen it many times before, but I just couldn't remember.

"Is there something I can help you with, Bristow?" The suddenness of Sark's question surprised me, because he never once stopped his movements or opened his eyes.

"Sorry." I found myself apologising. "I didn't mean to disturb you."

Ducking back inside, I wandered back to the kitchen to let Sark finish in peace. He came inside about ten minutes later and I watched him walk to the fridge and grab a bottle of water as I wondered what to say. This wasn't exactly a normal situation for me. Taking another sip of my second cup of coffee for the morning, I searched my brain for something to say as Sark leaned back against the kitchen counter and regarded me with icy eyes.

Before I could think of anything witty or intelligent to break the silence between us, Sark spoke. "I received some Intel from one of my contacts this morning." He said. "Apparently, the CIA has decided to form a new black ops task force to deal with both Sloane and Rambaldi."

I raised my eyebrows at this. "Who's in charge?" I asked, wondering if Kendall was up to his old tricks again, particularly not that I wasn't forced to do his dirty work anymore.

"Your old partner Marcus Dixon and your father." Sark answered.

I raised my eyebrows at this, my mind whirling. I suppose I should have expected something like this, but it still surprised me that my father had gone off the books again. Then I felt a stab of pain through my gut. "What about Vaughn..." I grimaced slightly. "... Reynard? Is he part of this?"

Sark nodded, a little wary at my response. "The CIA still believe he is the ever loyal Michael Vaughn." His tone was sardonic. "He, along with agents Wiess and Flinkmann have also joined your father."

I closed my eyes against the anger and tears that surged through me at his words. Vaughn... Reynard now had the resources of a black ops CIA group at his disposal! Groaning in frustration, I felt sick at all the things he could do... and wondered just how great a spy I was supposed to be after buying the image of sweet, loyal Vaughn for so long. It didn't matter about the odd feeling of unrest I had... I hadn't figured out what he was until it was too late.

"There are two other agents joining the RTF team." Sark said, and I opened my eyes just in time to see him re-enter the kitchen and place a folder next to me on the bench.

I realised with a start that I had not even heard him leave. "RTF?" I asked.

"The name of the new black ops group." Sark explained. "Rambaldi Task Force. Not exactly imaginative, I know."

Snorting at the boring name, I turned to the folder he had so casually tossed at me, wondering what it was. I soon found out – it was surveillance and reports on the new headquarters and team of the ??. Looking over the photographs, I saw that one of the new agents was a blonde woman. She was pretty and obviously well trained, but I wondered just how much experience she really had – and if she knew just what she was getting herself into. I blinked in surprise when I saw the other new agent and a very familiar face – Thomas Scott. "The woman is Teresa Gideon and the man is..." Sark began to explain.

"Thomas Scott." I interrupted him and at his icily questioning look, I added. "We've met before."

Sark seemed to accept this as an explanation. "It seems there was a question about Agent Scott's loyalty recently, but he has friends in high places." Sark said. "That and Reynard has recently presented a document to the CIA proving you were behind most of the leaks and problems they've been having, effectively clearing Scott."

I brooded over that for a minute and tried to hold back the emotions that were clamouring to get out. At this point, I wasn't sure whether I wanted to burst into tears or shoot someone. Maybe both. "So what's the plan for today?" I asked Sark in an attempt to keep the emotions at bay.

"Nothing." Sark answered curtly. "You're nowhere near ready to be out in the field, Sydney. So take the chance to catch up on your sleep."

"What the hell do you mean I'm not ready to be out in the field?" I exploded, stepping towards Sark threateningly.

Those Arctic eyes turned and stared into mine. "You're an emotional wreck." He said. "Reynard's betrayal has made you vulnerable and affected your judgement. You're too much of a risk right now."

I ignored his explanation, simply fixating on his belief that I was too much of a risk to be out there doing something. It was better than admitting he was right. "I can still take you down, Sark!" I growled out threateningly. "And anyone who comes my way! Stop being an asshole and help me do something!"

Sark simply raised an eyebrow in response to my anger, but there was something akin to sympathy and understanding in his gaze. "Anger can block out the pain, Sydney, but you still have to deal with it sooner or later."

With those soft words of advice, he turned and walked out of the kitchen, presumably to have a shower and leaving me to my complicated and painful thoughts.

* * *

Two hours later, I was alone and deathly bored. Sark had gone for a run, and while I normally would have jumped at the chance to do the same, I hadn't felt like any company, so I'd stayed behind. Fifteen minutes of mindless channel surfing had proved that had been a mistake. Groaning, I slumped back against the couch and shut my eyes. This was a nightmare! I rubbed my face with my hands, feeling like I was about to explode out of my skin. I'd always hated it when I had been unable to do anything, being a woman of action, and this was no different.

Suddenly, I went completely rigid, before leaping off the couch. The memory hit me with the same force as a lightning bolt. I couldn't believe it! I had actually remembered something about my missing two years! It was nothing more than a fragment, yes, but it proved that there was more to those years than I knew – or that anyone else did for that matter. And I could bet that it was definitely more than just the location of the Cube! I sank down onto the floor, cross legged and dredged every detail of the memory from my mind and tried to crystallize it into memory.

_The woman stood on the beach below me, her long brown hair whipping in the wind that blew in off the ocean. She wore loose white pants and a white singlet, bare foot in the sand. In one of her hands she held a sword, which was a strange sight, even on a beach as deserted as this one. Carefully, she began the movements she knew so well, carving out the form gracefully and purposefully._

_Suddenly, she spun, sword held high as if expecting an attack from behind. Then she grinned and she lost the weary and guarded look on her face. "Syd!" she cried happily. "You're back early!"_

Biting my lips absently as my thoughts whirled, I searched the lounge for a pencil and some paper, so I could carefully sketch the face of the woman before I forgot it. I didn't know who she was or how she knew me – but I did know two important things: I trusted her and she had called me "Syd", which meant she had known who I was while I pretended to be Julia Thorne. And that meant she was worth pursuing.

Finding what I was searching for, I managed to sketch the face of the woman from my memory just before Sark returned. I'm not entirely sure why, but I hid the drawing from him. I think I wanted to sort this out in my mind and maybe remember more before I considered telling him. I still didn't trust him, after all... but all that was forgotten when I saw the foreboding expression on Sark's face. Slamming the door behind him, he stalked into the lounge and stopped suddenly when he caught sight of me. I had never seen his icy control slip so much (without me being the cause, anyway) and I wondered what had happened.

"What's going on?" I asked him as he glared coldly about the room.

Turning his icy gaze on me, he paused for a second, as if debating how much to tell me. "Hey!" I snapped, rising from the couch and putting my hands on my hips. "We're in this together! So why don't you just tell me?"

"I just received a phone call from a mutual friend of ours." He said. "Lauren Reed."

I frowned, a little confused at why this had obviously made Sark so mad, before it came to me. "You mean your former girlfriend, Lauren Reed?" I asked.

Sark snarled and grimaced at my words. I remembered reading the intelligence reports not too long after Lauren's supposed death that detailed her illicit affair with Sark and the rumours that Sark had been in love with her. Confronted by the angry man in front of me, I wondered if the rumours were actually true. Aside from assuming that Sark was actually capable of loving anyone but himself and possibly my mother, he wasn't acting like a man who had just discovered the woman he loved was suddenly alive. He was acting more like a man confronted by an annoyance he didn't want to have to deal with right now. I shivered slightly at the cold way Sark was treating the situation, but part of me was irrationally glad that Sark obviously didn't love Lauren Reed.

"She was never anything more to me than a means to an end." Sark snapped, the expression on his face saying clearly that he didn't even want to mention the word 'girlfriend' again.

"Rumours say you were in love with her." I said, filling in the dots. "But you were just using her, weren't you? Was just to take down the Covenant, Sark? Or is there something else I should know?"

Sark raised an eyebrow, regaining the inscrutable demeanour he was known for. "I was trying to find the people behind the Covenant." He said. "Removing the head from the snake, as it were. I was also curious to see just how far the network of the Covenant extended and obviously it had ties in the CIA. I wanted to see how far they went and Lauren Reed was in a perfect position to tell me."

"And did she?"

"I'd thought so." Sark replied. "But considering the recent revelation of Michael Vaughn's real identity, obviously not."

I let that sink in for a moment and yet again questioned what I had got myself into – and why I hadn't considered this earlier. It seemed even I had underestimated Sark. Yes, he was a cold blooded bastard that would betray anyone to ensure his own freedom and life, but he was also far more resourceful that anyone had given him credit for. I began to realise that my half-formed ideas about taking down Rambaldi actually stood a good chance of working with Sark by my side. And instead of scaring me like it should have, the prospect actually made me smile.

"So what did she want?" I asked, more calmly this time, and settled back down on the couch.

Nothing but a flick of his eyes in my direction showed that Sark was surprised by my sudden calm mood. "It seems that your decision to join me has been even more successful than I imagined." He said. "The Covenant, or at least, what's left of it, has no idea where you are, Sydney. Lauren Reed believes that by enlisting my help, she can find you."

"And she's banking on your supposed love for her to make you agree." I added.

Sark nodded. "Yes."

I smiled a little. "So what did you tell her?"

A smirk flittered across Sark's face. "I told her I was little busy right now, but I'd think about it and get back to her."

At his reply, delivered in such a characteristic manner, actually made me grin. "You're going to send her all over world chasing ghosts, aren't you?" I asked.

Sark lifted an eyebrow, the smirk still in place. "Of course." He answered. "I thought it fitting. Now if you'll excuse me, I think I'll go and take a shower."

I watched him walk out of the room, still grinning in amusement. For the first time in a very long time, I was actually beginning to feel happy – the Covenant and everyone trying to destroy me didn't know who I was or who I was working with, which meant that I was a few steps ahead of them, for once. And Sark and I had spent more than a day in each other's company without even trying to kill each other once. Maybe, just maybe, this time I would win; this time Rambaldi would be the one who was destroyed.

* * *

Agent Thomas Scott, new agent of the RTF, groaned softly as he rubbed his eyes. He felt as if he had been staring at his computer screen for an eternity. He reached for his coffee cup, only to find it was empty. With a grimace, he got up and went to fill it again. The coffee in this place was really bad, but the caffeine helped, no matter how bad the taste was. He supposed that was the only reason his fellow agents put up with it.

He was about to walk back to his desk, when he heard something. Pausing for a minute inside the tea room, he listened to the hushed conversation occurring just beyond the doorway. Years as a spy had trained him to gather any information he could and he'd learned the hard way not to trust the people you worked with. As he listened, he recognised the voice – it belonged to Agent Vaughn. Something about the man had just rubbed him the wrong way from day one, and it was more than the man's hatred of Sydney Bristow.

That was another thing that made Thomas wary. He knew that Sydney wasn't the mole in the JTF and the sudden amount of evidence to say she was, was a little suspicious to say the least. Besides, she'd trusted him because of little more than a gut feeling when she didn't have to and he respected that. His gut was also telling him that she could be trusted, no matter what everyone was saying about her.

"Damn it, I have no idea where she is!" Vaughn hissed from just outside the tea room, breaking into Thomas' thoughts. "She's disappeared off the face of the planet! Not even her father knows where she is!"

There was slight pause as he listened to whoever was on the other end of the line. "I know, but the evidence I forged against her is only going to delay the CIA for so long! We need to find her."

Thomas bit his lip to stifle his gasp of surprise. He'd found the mole! No wonder Sydney had never stood a chance. The mole was the man who was supposed to love her! Thomas sank back against the counter as his thoughts whirled. This was bad. What was he going to do? The team at the RTF seemed to trust Vaughn implicitly and he knew he couldn't convince them otherwise without evidence. But what evidence could he hope to collect without Vaughn figuring out someone was onto him?

Vaguely he heard Vaughn snap his phone shut and move away, but he didn't move from where he was. Then he sighed. The only think he could do was to find Sydney because right now, she was the only person he even slightly trusted. But how was he going to find her when everyone else was having trouble?

Then a thought struck him. Sydney had given him a phone number of a message service to he could contact her if he found anything else about Rambaldi when he met her in Peru. If that was still active, he had a way of getting in contact with her. All he had to do now was hope that she checked it and got his message.

* * *

That night I couldn't sleep and it was more than just an overload of caffeine. With a snarl, I got up and padded down the corridor to Sark's room, hoping he wouldn't shoot me for waking him up at 3 in the morning. "Sark?" I called softly as I knocked on his door.

There was silence for a second, before I heard blankets being thrown back and someone softly walking to the door. "Yes?" Sark asked, his tone decidedly grumpy as he opened the door.

My eyebrows rose sharply at the picture that confronted me. It seemed that Sark was not always the perfectly groomed superspy he presented to the world – sleep had rumpled his short hair so it stood up at odd angles and the pillow had left little red creases in his cheek. A pair of very ratty sweat pants hung low on lean hips and his chest was bare, revealing a well-muscled chest decorated with a few silvery scars and the fact that Sark could probably do with a few good meals.

The sight had made me pause for long enough that Sark fixed me with an irritated glare. "Bristow." He said, his voice still a little thick with sleep. "It's 3am. Please tell me you didn't just wake me up to see if I slept in pyjamas or not."

Jerking my eyes back up to his face, only to find amusement in those icy blue eyes, I got my mind back to the reason I had woken him. "Whether or not you wear pyjamas to bed is hardly something I would spend a second thinking about, let alone let it keep me awake at night." I snapped back.

"So what is it?" Sark sighed, as if running out of patience.

"There's something you should know..." I began.

Sark groaned. "Nothing good even follows those words." He said. "Wait here."

Disappeared back inside his dark room, I heard the sounds of a draw opening and closing, followed by a muffled curse before Sark reappeared back at the door. He'd pulled on a black jumper and seemed a little more awake now. "I need a cup of tea." He said, before leading the way towards the kitchen.

I followed, a curious feeling spreading through me. Unlike anyone else in my life, Sark simply accepted the fact that whatever I had to say was important and seemed to instinctively know that the explanation wouldn't be a short one. Instead of demanding answers, which he probably had every right to do, or asking unnecessary questions, he simply pulled on a jumper and went to make tea. It was nice, really nice. For once I felt that I was considered an equal – that my opinions and bad feelings were as important as anyone else's.

"Coffee?" Sark asked as he walked into the kitchen, turned on the light and made his way over to the kettle.

"No thanks." I said. "But I'd like a cup of tea if I could."

Sark glanced back over his shoulder at me and raised an eyebrow in amusement. "Tea, Sydney?" he replied with a smirk. "I didn't think you'd even know what it was."

I shot him a dark glance. "I drink tea!" I said, perhaps a little defensively.

Sark snorted. "Perhaps when you run out of coffee." He said, turning back to the kettle and pulling two mugs out of one of the nearby cupboards.

We bickered until the tea was ready, falling back into familiar patterns from SD-6 and the various missions we had been on, both as rivals and partners. Finally, we sat down at the small table in the middle of the kitchen and Sark placed a cup of tea in front of me. I smiled my thanks at him, before taking a deep breath. "It all starts a little over two months ago. Just before she was supposedly killed, Lauren told me about a bank vault in Wittenberg. She hinted that I'd been controlled by the CIA since I was a child and that it was no surprise that I'd become an agent." I said. "So I went to check it out."

Sark's expression remained neutral and he offered no hollow words of comfort, for which I was grateful. "What did you find?" he asked.

"Top secret documents," I answered, "one of which was a file on a project called S.A.B and was initiated on my birthday."

"You believe the CIA trained you to be an agent from childhood?" Sark asked, his face without expression.

I didn't pretend not to know why he didn't seem to care – after all, he had spent his entire life being trained to be exactly who he was too. For an instant, I realised that Sark and I were almost kindred spirits in a way. It could explain why we had always understood each other better than anyone else. Both of us had been manipulated and turned into something other than what we would have been by people intent on using us as pawns. "I know I was." I replied, my tone firm and not asking for sympathy. "I was the prototype for Project Christmas. One of the very things Irina had been sent to discover and take back to her superiors at the KGB."

Sark nodded. "I always assumed as much." He said. "Your father was simply too much of a spy to not think that you would be a target in later life."

"It's not only that. My father also profiled me, right down to which Rambaldi artefacts I would find and whether I would kill my mother when I discovered the truth about her." I continued. "He spent my entire life trying to turn me into a weapon that he could use to destroy Rambaldi, because he believes that Rambaldi destroyed his life."

Sark studied me over the rim of his cup. A cold smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "You're not the only one who was crafted into a weapon from a young age, Sydney." He told me. "Irina had a similar idea to your father – I was supposed to be her weapon that would ensure Rambaldi became a reality."

"Supposed to be?" I asked.

Sark shrugged and an expression of such cold entered his eyes. I had thought his normal gaze was Arctic, but it had nothing on this one. "I no longer have any allegiance to Irina Derevko." He said.

I nodded, understanding the pain only my mother could cause. Sark seemed to shake himself free of whatever memories his talk of Irina caused and his gaze sharpened on mine again. "And the other documents?" he asked. "I hardly think your father's betrayal could have caused you to lose so much sleep – or drive you to wake me."

Sometimes I really hated the way that Sark understood me so effortlessly. "No, you're right. It's not my father that's the problem. At least, not directly. There were two other files in the vault. One was a very similar profile on you." I said. "I could tell that it was only recently compiled, but it had an eerie amount of information in it. The other file was on Rambaldi."

Sark shut his eyes and let out a hiss of breath. "Bitch." He muttered, followed by a stream of curses in a mixture of Russian and English. "She told them."

"Told who, what?" I asked.

"Irina must have told your father about me during her voluntary imprisonment with the CIA." He explained, his voice colder than I thought possible and the fire of anger burning in his eyes. "She knew that I was no longer hers. This was her way of making sure I wasn't going to be a threat."

I felt a rush of sympathy for Sark in that moment, but hid it well. He would not appreciate it, I don't think. I understood a little of what he was going through, however. My life had been a series of betrayals, just like his. "The Rambaldi file was probably the worst." I said, trying to draw Sark out of the dark place he had gone to – how I knew that, I'm not sure. It certainly wasn't in his expression, as the carefully cultivated mask could hide it quite well. "It talked about something called 'the Shards'. There's five of them and they're supposed to power the machine that is Rambaldi's endgame. It also talked about Page 47 and the prophecy."

Sark had opened his eyes again and was listening intently, obviously ignoring his anger for now. "Apparently there's a code hidden on both Page 47 and the manuscript that discusses the Passenger. The supposed prophecy written next to my face was more of a warning and a distraction that the actual thing. The object the Passenger and the Chosen One are supposed to fight over is 'the Shards'. And the Passenger isn't my sister." I continued.

There was a long pause as Sark digested this information. In a gesture that proved just how tired the emotional storm of the last few minutes had made hi, he slumped down a little in his seat and rubbed his hand over his face. "That explains a lot." He said. "Did you make a copy of these files?"

I nodded. "That's why I woke you." I said. "Looking back it was rather stupid, but I hid a copy of those files in my apartment. If my father managed to find them first, then we're probably okay..."

"But if the NSC or Reynard found them..." Sark interrupted. "We could be in a lot of trouble."

"Yeah." I agreed. "There's something else – I made a second copy of the files and hid it in a safety deposit box in Berlin."

Sark looked at me and smirked. "Then I think we should take a trip to Berlin, don't you?" he said.

I nodded. "Sounds good to me." I replied.

To be continued...


End file.
